Captured
by morelikeaghost
Summary: After Neal's funeral, Emma finds herself drowning her sorrows at The Rabbit Hole. Killian shows up to comfort her but is surprised when the tables are turned. Set after 3X15 "Quiet Minds" and contains spoilers for OUAT Season 3. Rated M (a bit suggestive but not graphic).


"_Never wanted to be swept away_

_I thought I might lose myself_

_Nobody told me there'd be music, sweet music_

_Now I got this sinking feeling_

_Oh I try to brace myself_

_I can feel me start to surrender, sweet surrender…_

_Never thought I could love someone_

_More than I love myself_

_Nobody told me about forgiveness, sweet forgiveness_

_Now we're waving our flag in the air_

_The one we sewed together_

_We're planting our seeds in the ground_

_Roots are growing_

_Everything I needed to remember_

_Everything I needed to forget_

_When I see you smile, I am a child_

_I'm captured…" _(Captured, lyrics by Warren Haynes)

Emma spun her empty glass on the polished marble surface of the bar, absently wondering how in the hell a seedy establishment like The Rabbit Hole had ended up in otherwise quaintly perfect Storybrooke. She supposed that even fairytale characters needed a place to get shit-faced sometimes. A sentiment she could certainly understand – at the moment, she was profoundly grateful for the existence of this dark little dive and its endless variety of mind-numbing libations. However, despite the growing number of empty glasses sitting in a neat line in front of her, Emma's mind was far from numb. She summoned the gruff and burly bartender (she'd been amusing herself all evening by trying to guess his fairytale identity and had finally settled on ogre). _Might as well just order the whole damn bottle_, she thought. Before she could make her request, someone slid onto the empty stool beside her and beat her to the punch.

"Bottle of rum, mate, and two glasses."

Emma turned to face her usurper with a sigh. Of course it would be him. Captain Hook, or maybe it was Killian Jones – she noticed he hadn't put the hook back on after the funeral – searched her face with startlingly blue eyes, his forehead wrinkling in concern.

"I've been looking all over for you Swan," he said, deftly opening the bottle one-handed and pouring them both a healthy dose of liquor. "Your family is worried about you." He took a casual sip from his glass and pushed the other one towards her.

Emma ignored the offering and glared at him. "Is that why you're here? On another mission to retrieve the wayward daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and bring her back into the fold?" She tried not to notice the hurt that danced across his too-handsome features before he managed to hide it behind a mask of indifference.

"Actually," Killian replied, lifting his glass to his lips and downing the rest of its contents in one gulp. "I had given up looking for you and just came here to get drunk. This is the last place I thought I'd find you."

"Yeah, well," Emma said, finally picking up her glass. She followed his lead and swallowed it down, grateful for the way the liquid burned all the way from her esophagus to her gut. "You did. Seems to be a theme with you." She stood up abruptly, ignoring the way the room tilted alarmingly, no doubt due to the copious amount of alcohol she'd consumed over the past few hours. "But I'm really not in the mood for company, so thanks but no thanks." She pulled out her wallet, tossed several bills onto the bar, and practically sprinted for the door. She heard Killian curse, followed by a rustle of fabric and the sound of his stool sliding across the floor. Damn it, he was coming after her.

Emma stumbled through the door and out into the street where she was immediately pelted with freezing rain. _Of course it's raining_, she thought bitterly as she charged down the icy sidewalk. She made it only a few steps before Killian caught up to her, grabbing her arm. The impetus of her flight spun her around, sending her crashing into him. They both staggered. Killian, far less inebriated than she, caught her by the arm and managed to keep her upright, holding her in an iron grip. Emma struggled to break free, but he was unrelenting and eventually she gave up. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. They stared at one another for a long moment, standing only inches apart, breaths mingling in the chill air.

"Emma," Killian said softly. "It's okay. You don't have to be strong all the time." Emma felt her lower lip tremble.

"I j-just can't s-stop thinking," she stammered. "W-what am I going to t-tell Henry?" Her voice broke and the dam that had been holding back her tears burst right along with it. "I'm supposed to be the Savior, but I couldn't save Neal. Now he's gone and Henry doesn't even remember him, didn't get a chance to say goodbye, and I – " Emma stopped abruptly, choking on a sob. She didn't even know what she was trying to say.

Killian looked as though his heart was breaking. Wordlessly, he drew her to him, his good hand tangling in her hair as he pressed her head to his leather-clad shoulder. For a split second Emma resisted, but then something inside her gave way and she relaxed against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. They stood that way for a long, long moment, in the soaking icy rain, Emma sobbing silently while Killian stroked her hair, her back, murmuring comforting words that she couldn't really make out into the side of her neck. Eventually her tears subsided and she slowly came back to awareness. Her first thought was a deeply honest one, and probably something she would never have admitted even to herself if she'd been sober – she _loved_ the feel of Killian's arms around her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd found such comfort in an embrace; more often than not she balked when anyone tried to touch her, particularly when she was upset. Her second thought was, as nice as it would be to stay in this moment forever, she was wet and freezing and starting to shiver. Very reluctantly, Emma lifted her head from Killian's shoulder and placed her hands on his chest, pushing back slightly. She found that she couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"I'm okay now," she said, shyly, striving for a normal tone of voice. His arms fell to his sides as she took a step back. "Thank you." She stole a lightening quick glance at him. He smiled sadly, tentatively, an offering. Emma attempted to smile back, unsuccessfully, thanks to the uncontrollable chattering of her teeth. Killian's smile turned into a frown.

"You're freezing, love," he said. The concern in his voice just about wrecked her. "Is your car close by? We should get you back to the loft."

Emma shook her head. "I walked here," she said. "And I don't really want to go back to the loft. I don't think I can face…any of them…right now." She surprised herself with the admission. It was more than she'd meant to say, but she'd let her walls crumble the moment she stepped into his arms and now she was finding it difficult to reconstruct them.

"Do you want to come with me back to the Inn?" he asked, hesitantly. Emma raised an eyebrow. He suddenly seemed to realize the possible implications of such an invitation and hurriedly added, "I don't know if you still have your room there, but if you don't, perhaps Ruby could lend you some dry clothes."

"Actually, I did keep my room and my suitcase is there. We've stayed at the loft the past couple of nights, but honestly it's a bit crowded and it's only going to get worse once the baby comes," Emma replied, also in a rush, conscious of the fact that she was babbling. An awkward silence descended.

"Shall we then?" Killian said finally, clearing his throat. He turned in the direction of Granny's Inn, Emma falling in step beside him. Thankfully, the freezing rain had subsided, although it had left numerous semi-frozen puddles behind on the sidewalk. Emma ducked sideways to avoid a particularly large one and ended up right in Killian's path. Her hand collided with his, and, despite her frazzled state of mind, it was impossible to ignore how even that small contact sent her nerves singing. The air between them was dense with unspoken words and stifled emotions, not to mention the sexual tension that seemed only too quick to rise whenever they were alone. Luckily Storybrooke was such a small town, the walk to the Inn took only a few minutes. Emma had never been so relieved to see the place in all her life.

By tacit agreement, they avoided the front door near the diner, instead using the more private rear entrance reserved for inn guests. Neither of them felt up to accepting condolences from well-wishers at the diner. When they arrived at Emma's room, Killian leaned his good hand against the doorframe, attempting to meet her eyes but finding her unwilling to look at him. She fumbled with the key, very much aware of him standing there, invading her personal space as usual. She was never quite sure if he did that on purpose or if it was just a natural consequence of the inexorable gravitational pull between them. Emma managed the lock somehow, thankful that she could use the cold as an excuse for her shaking hands, and swung the door open. Beside her, Killian sighed deeply, so close that his breath ruffled her air, and said, "Well, goodnight, Swan."

He waited a beat, and when she didn't respond, he turned to go. Emma's heart constricted and she made a decision. She'd told him earlier that she wanted to be alone, but now that she'd allowed herself to find just a little bit of comfort in him, she found that she was ravenous for more. "Wait," she heard herself say in a voice she hardly recognized. Killian stopped dead in his tracks. "Don't go," she said. He turned to face her, his expression uncertain. Emma really couldn't blame him for his confusion; she herself wasn't sure what she was offering. She only knew that she couldn't stand to spend another night, particularly this night, alone. He followed her into the small guest room without speaking a word. Emma shut the door behind him.

Still shaking – almost entirely from nervousness now – she hung her sopping wet jacket on one of the hooks near the door, not bothering to turn on the light. Killian followed her example, also doffing his coat and hanging it up. Emma felt his eyes burning holes into her back as she rifled through her suitcase in the far corner of the dim room, pulling out a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of yoga pants. Now that she'd invited him into her room, she recognized a dilemma – none of the rooms at Granny's Inn had private baths. If she wanted to change her clothes, she was either going to have to go down the hall to the communal bathroom or strip right there in front of him. The drunk half of her brain was encouraging her to do the latter; luckily, the walk in the cold had sobered up the other half enough that she found herself heading for the door, saying, "I'll be right back," as she pushed past him.

Confined to the solitude of the bathroom, Emma peeled off her wet clothes and then wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel. Her reflection in the mirror over the sink caught her eye and she winced a little at the state of her hair and mascara. Oh well, she supposed Killian had seen her look worse – Neverland had been a steaming hot jungle, after all, and there was certainly no love lost between her hair and humidity. _Why do you care what you look like to him_? she asked herself cattily. _Just why __**did**__ you invite him into your room, Swan?_

Emma frowned at her reflection and then furiously splashed her face with cold water, attempting to cool her thoughts. She was drunk and sad and dangerously close to falling back on one of her old crutches from her life before Henry and Storybrooke. There'd been nights during those lonely years when she'd invited a handsome stranger into her bed in an attempt to feel something other than the emptiness that had sometimes threatened to consume her. Always she'd kept those encounters casual, carelessly blowing her lovers off the next day no matter how sweetly they begged for her phone number. While Killian certainly satisfied the handsome requirement, he was hardly a stranger, and despite her attempts to convince herself otherwise, Emma knew that spending the night with him in _that_ way would be anything but casual.

Firmly forcing her thoughts back into safer territory, Emma slowly drew on her dry clothes, scrunching the wet ones into a ball and bundling them up in her towel. She took a bracing breath and made her way back to her room where she found Killian sitting in the chair by the window, flask in hand. His long coat seemed to have protected him from the elements better than her short jacket – his shirt and pants were utterly dry. He hadn't turned on the light while she was gone, but even in the semi-darkness Emma could see that he looked as lost as she felt, and she remembered guiltily that he had cared for Neal, too.

"Hey," she said gently. He was occupying the only chair in the room so Emma took a seat on the bed, facing him. The room was so small that their knees were practically touching. "How are you holding up?"

Killian slid his gaze away from hers, turning his face towards the window. He took a long swig from his flask. It was obvious that he really didn't want to talk about this. Now that she thought about it, she could count on one hand the number of times he'd openly talked about _his_ feelings. So many of their interactions were focused on her and what she was feeling that she had failed to notice that he was possibly even more adept than she was at putting up walls. The few times he'd tried to open up to her, she'd shut him down or walked away, mainly because she was afraid of him revealing something that would be too painful – not for him to tell, but for her to hear. _You are so selfish_, she accused herself silently. Emma flushed with shame as she studied his profile, illuminated every few seconds by the blinking of Storybrooke's lone traffic signal just outside the window.

"Killian," she said. That got his attention; she heard his sharp intake of breath. Although she'd called him Killian several times in front of Henry, she'd never used his name when they were alone. It felt surprisingly intimate, especially here in this dark, tiny room. He met her eyes, reluctantly, and Emma was shocked to see wetness clinging to his eyelashes.

"He was my last link to…her," he managed hoarsely. "Milah." He could barely say her name, and Emma couldn't help but be moved by the fact that _he_ was clearly still so affected by the loss of a woman he had loved over three hundred years ago.

"Everything that happened to her, to Baelfire, was my fault," he continued. "I never should have let her leave her family and come away with me, but I was selfish and blinded by love. Milah never forgave herself for abandoning her son. It was a regret she took to her grave." He turned back to the window, his eyes hundreds of years and thousands of miles away. "Losing Milah was the catalyst that eventually drove Rumpelstiltskin to become the Dark One. Later, when he was faced with the choice of giving up his son or his powers, the Dark One chose the latter." He paused, meeting Emma's eyes, his expression full of self-loathing. "The boy was abandoned by both of his parents because of me."

Emma shook her head. "Killian, it's not your fault," she said fervently, placing her hand on his knee. "Nobody forced Milah or Rumple to leave Neal – it was _their_ choice, not yours."

He went on as though he hadn't heard her, staring right through her, unfazed even by her touch. "When I found Baelfire in Neverland, I thought the gods had sent him to me so that I could atone for my sins against his family. We became close – he was like a son to me, just like Milah always dreamed – but I could never seem to bring myself to tell him about my relationship with her. I let him think he'd found himself on some random pirate ship, but eventually he found out the truth, and he was angry and upset that I had lied to him. He blamed me for Milah leaving him, for her death, for everything. He was right, of course, but I couldn't see past my own anger and pain, and so I gave him up to Pan." Tears filled Emma's eyes. She knew that there was history between Killian and Neal, but she hadn't expected something like this.

"He was just a boy, Emma," Killian said, his voice cracking a little. "He trusted me and I betrayed him. How could I have done that, knowing firsthand what it feels like to be abandoned? I swore that I would never do that to a child of mine, and Baelfire was the closest thing to a child I've ever had."

"You were abandoned as a child?" Emma asked. Before he even responded, Emma knew it was true. It explained so much about him, including why she was so drawn to him – it was yet another way they were alike.

"Yes. My father left me at port one morning and sailed off on some great swashbuckling adventure," he responded bitterly. Emma winced as he parroted her own words back to her. That day in the forest, when they'd first explored the Witch's lair, she'd accused of him of doing that very thing during their year apart. She hadn't been serious, of course - she'd merely been trying to get him to give up whatever it was he was hiding, but he had obviously taken it to heart.

"Lucky for me," Killian drawled on, sounding somewhat more composed than he had when he'd recounted the story of Milah and Neal. "My older brother Liam was able to stow me away on his ship when he joined the navy. That's where I grew up, aboard His Royal Majesty's Jewel of the Realm – known to you as the Jolly Roger. When I came of age, I enlisted myself, eventually serving as Liam's lieutenant. Not long after I attained that rank, we were sent on a mission to Neverland…and you know the rest of that story." He stood up then, agitated, brushing Emma's hand off his knee and retreating to the other side of the room. Even though her back was to him, she could hear him pacing.

Emma sat quietly, processing everything Killian had just told her. She knew he'd suffered many losses in his life, but she never would've guessed at the amount of guilt he carried – he hid it so well behind his sarcasm and his charm. _Maybe you would've guessed if you'd ever cared to look_, her conscience nagged. Well, she was looking now, and the tide of emotion welling up in her chest confirmed that she definitely cared. Despite what he might think, Emma knew Killian wasn't to blame for Liam's and Milah's deaths. But she also knew what it was like to watch someone you loved die in your arms and be helpless to stop it. She was only too familiar with the guilt that accompanied that sort of experience. Emma swallowed hard, her thoughts still reeling. Killian most certainly wasn't responsible for Neal's parents abandoning their son, and while handing Neal over to Pan in a fit of rage certainly wasn't an admirable move, she could still sympathize. After all, she'd given her own son up for adoption right after his birth, without ever even holding him in her arms. Finally, most poignantly of all, she understood exactly how devastating it could be to grow up believing that your own parents didn't want you. It was the kind of pain that followed you for the rest of your life, making it nearly impossible to believe that anyone could ever really love you.

How had he ever managed to carry on through all the long years with that much baggage weighing him down? Emma knew the answer to that – he very nearly hadn't. He'd been so consumed by his rage and pursuit of revenge that he'd come very close to forever losing everything in himself that was noble and loving and honorable. But somehow he had found the courage to push past it, to open up his heart and love again. To love _her_, of all people, a certifiable Ice Princess with protective walls taller and more fortified than the Great Wall of China. Emma felt instantaneously wretched about and humbled by the fact that of all the women in the world – and she was sure he'd known many over the centuries – he had chosen _her_. Wretched because of the way she'd treated him, constantly pushing him away and making light of his feelings. And humbled because her one single word to him when they'd said goodbye at the town line had given him enough hope to accomplish the impossible and find a way back to her. She could live twice as many centuries as Killian had, save hundreds of small Maine towns, entire magical kingdoms, and countless fairytale characters, and still not be worthy of that kind of love. _But, _she realized suddenly,_ I want to be_.

As her thoughts and emotions settled, Emma was hit by a moment of precipitous clarity. Somehow, in the midst of the chaos of her life, somewhere between their adventure on the beanstalk, saving Henry in Neverland, being cursed, and hunting the Wicked Witch, she had fallen absolutely, completely, _desperately_ in love with Killian. Her breath caught in her lungs and her entire body went still. _Oh god,_ she thought. _It's true – I love him_. Not with the sort of adolescent fervor she'd felt for Neal, or the companionable affection she'd had for Walsh, but with the kind of soul-deep, gut-wrenching, life-altering depth of feeling she'd previously thought could only occur between the likes of Snow White and Prince Charming.

Emma wasn't sure whether she wanted to shout it from the mountaintops or run and hide, but before she could do either she was jolted back to reality by a sound from across the room. She turned her head towards it and was surprised to see Killian there, leaning against the far wall where even the light from the window couldn't touch him. In the wake of her revelation, she'd somehow managed to forget he was in the room. She caught his eye and he dipped his chin towards his chest, drawing in a shuddering breath. Emma abruptly realized how her long silence, coming on the heels of his dark confession, must appear to him. She leapt to her feet and approached him, a little fearfully, wanting to reassure him but feeling more than a little bit vulnerable herself.

When she reached him, Killian refused to look at her, despite the fact that she stood so close they were nearly touching. His posture was slumped, dejected. Emma couldn't stand to see him that way, not after all the times he'd given her hope when she despaired. She wanted to comfort him like he had comforted her earlier that evening when he'd held her so sweetly in the freezing rain. Slowly, gently, she laid her palm against his face, her thumb grazing the light scar on his cheek that she'd always found secretly intriguing. He froze at her touch, like some kind of cornered animal, but finally lifted his chin. His haunted gaze darted back and forth between her eyes.

"Don't," he said, his voice low and dangerous. He caught her wrist with his good hand and wrenched her hand away from his face. "Haven't you been listening? You were right to keep me at arm's length, Emma. Everyone I've ever loved has ended up dead."

Her first impulse was to tell him that nothing that had happened to the people he'd loved was his fault, but the words just seemed to stick in her throat. She'd never been good at expressing herself verbally – too many empty promises from people she thought cared about her had made her mistrustful of words, she supposed. Emma had always let her actions speak for her, so when her second impulse told her to kiss him, she did. At first he refused to yield, his desire for her wrestling with his determination to keep her safe, but she was insistent and after a few moments he kissed her back.

_Oh_, Emma thought, spine tingling. This kiss was nothing like the one they'd shared in Neverland. That kiss had been explosive, a product of the intense chemistry between them – it had set her whole world instantly ablaze. But this…this was more like a slow burn. She had never dreamed he would be so gentle, his fingers playing lightly up and down her back before tangling in her hair, tugging lightly and making her gasp. Killian took her parted lips as an invitation, the tip of his tongue finding hers, and the kiss morphed from gentle to hot in an instant. Emma felt him take hold of her hips, pulling her hard against him, before she lost herself completely in his perfect, perfect mouth.

Ten seconds or an hour might have passed when suddenly he spun them around, pressing her into the wall. Emma arched her back, cradling his head to her as he rained kisses along her jaw, her throat, her collarbones. Every nerve ending in her body stirred to life and attuned itself to him. He ran his hand down her hip to her thigh, grasping her leg behind the knee and pulling it upward to give himself better access as he moved against her. Emma was hardly aware of the sound that escaped her lips when he sought her mouth again. Her hands were everywhere, seeking out bare skin, finding it, committing every bone and every muscle to memory.

Somewhere far away inside her head, a tiny voice cautioned that things were moving a bit fast – maybe she ought to slow it down a little? Emma ignored the voice, too overwhelmed by her helpless response to Killian's touch to be reasonable, especially not when he was holding her up against the wall and there were only a few scant layers of clothing between them. She was ready and willing for him to take her right there. Her hands flew to his belt, frantic, slipping one hand into the waistband of his pants.

That stopped him. He broke off kissing her so abruptly that Emma cried out. Struggling for control, Killian lowered her to her feet and then stepped in close, resting his forehead against hers. Emma could feel his ragged breathing and galloping heart. She was unsure what was happening – could he be _rejecting_ her? He was quiet for so long that she started to think that must be it and was just about to push him away when finally he spoke.

"Emma, love, please – not like this." His voice was soft but strained, as though it had taken every ounce of discipline he possessed to pull away from her. Emma leaned back slightly in order to study his face. His hair, always so annoyingly perfect, was mussed thanks to the onslaught of her fingers, and there was nothing at all disciplined about his mouth, his lips swollen from kissing her.

"If the wall isn't your thing, there's a bed right over there," Emma purred in a husky voice, dialing in her inner temptress and moving against him suggestively. Killian groaned aloud, holding onto her for one heated moment before setting her away from him with obvious reluctance.

"What I mean, darling, is I'm not looking for pity," he said, carefully.

"Neither am I," she replied, just as carefully. "That's not what this is."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked. "Today you buried your first love, the father of your child. I wouldn't blame you for seeking out a…distraction." His eyes were so vulnerable, it tugged at Emma's heart. In spite of all his romantic professions and sweeping gestures, when it came down to it he was just as afraid of this powerful, yet still fragile, thing between them as she was.

"Killian," she said, holding his gaze steadily. "I promise you it isn't like that. Yes, I loved Neal and I always will." He winced a little, but didn't interrupt. "But it's been a very long time since I was _in_ love with Neal. He was never 'the one.' And neither was Walsh – him being a flying monkey aside." Killian listened intently, hardly breathing, as though he didn't dare hope that her speech was heading in the direction he thought it was heading.

Emma continued, her hand once again finding its way up to his face, "Even before I had my memories back, I knew that there was no way I could marry Walsh – because of you." She smiled tremulously. "I didn't remember you, but something inside me recognized you. I was drawn to you, just like I've always been drawn to you."

Killian couldn't stop himself from gathering her into his arms. "Emma, I – " he began, but she interrupted him.

"I wasn't finished," she said. "I'm not very good with words, but let me try to get this out." She wound her arms around his neck, her eyes not leaving his even for a second. "What I want to say is…you've captured my heart, pirate." She frowned apologetically. "That might be the best I can do for now, but I hope you understand. Coming back here, everything that's happened…it's been difficult. After the funeral, I couldn't stop thinking about what happens next. There are things that I want and I'm done missing out on them. I can't just keep waiting for things to settle down to start living my life. Last year in New York, Henry and I got a taste of a 'normal' life and it was wonderful, but it wasn't real." She paused, overcome with emotion. "My life here in Storybrooke, my family…you...it _is_ real, and it can be wonderful if I let it. Everything that I want, I _can_ have. Here, in this life."

Emma felt the tears that had been welling up in her eyes overflow, but she didn't care. They were happy tears. Killian crushed her against him and they clung to one another. Finally he pulled back, taking her face in his hands, feeling the wetness on her cheeks. He kissed her with exquisite tenderness, tasting the saltiness of her tears and feeling as though his poor unpracticed heart might burst with joy. Finally he ended the kiss, needing to look at her.

"Whatever you want, you shall have it," he promised. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"I know," Emma said with a contented smile. "Right now what I want is to fall asleep with you next to me. I think my little pity party at the Rabbit Hole is finally catching up with me." She led him to the bed, waiting until they were lying in each other's arms before she spoke again. Her thoughts drifted back to what had _almost_ happened between them earlier and she sighed, somewhat regretfully. "You were right earlier – we got a little carried away."

"As much as I would have loved to get carried away with you," he murmured into her hair. "I am willing to wait for the right time."

"When would that be?" she asked, snuggling into his chest, already feeling sleepy. Killian's arms tightened around her.

"Some night when you are not hiding out from your family who will almost certainly come looking for you tomorrow at the crack of dawn," he replied with a hint of amusement. Then, turning serious, he continued in a tone that made Emma's body tingle all over, "The first time we make love, I want to have hours and hours to learn every inch of you, preferably followed by another day and night with which to do the same."

"Keep saying things like that," Emma warned, curling her fingers around his arm. "And I am going to get carried away again."

"I am only trying to give you pleasant dreams," he said, wickedly, finding her earlobe with his lips.

"I mean it, cut it out!" Emma gasped. He moved abruptly, shifting so that he was lying behind her, his body curled around hers. She could feel him smirking against the back of her neck.

"As you wish, my love."

THE END

9


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